“That’s as good as being brave,” whispered back Mr Temple. “What?” he said, as the boy clung to his hand and leaned forward till his lips nearly touched his father’s ear.
“I want to tell you something,” whispered Arthur. “I was too great a coward to tell you before. That cigar-case was not Dick’s, but mine.”
Mr Temple was silent for a few minutes, and then he said:
“Better late than never, my boy. If you had come frankly to me, and not let your brother take that bit of blame, I should have felt that you could not be a coward. Arthur, my boy, you have a good deal to master yet. Well, Dick,” he said aloud in a cheery tone, “how are you?”
“Capital, father,” said Dick, “but so dreadfully hungry.”
“Well, we can’t be prisoners much longer.”
“Hours yet,” growled Josh—“eh, Will?”
“I don’t think so, Josh. You must have been asleep a long time, and don’t count that.”
“G’long,” cried Josh. “Don’t talk gashly nonsense.”
“Strike another light,” said Mr Temple after they had listened once more to the horrible gurgling and washing of the incoming water, and the hardly less startling sounds it made as it escaped. “Hand the light to me directly.”